


Erōs

by tomatopudding



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Also Trying Not to be Too Cheesy, Eros - Freeform, Fake Character Death, I Hope I'm Not Failing, Love, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Romance, Trying to Be Clever and Insightful, waxing poetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatopudding/pseuds/tomatopudding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Reichenbach. There are many different kind of love. Sherlock Holmes has experience with them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first foray into Sherlock fanfiction.

PART I: Sherlock

Many people think that Sherlock Holmes is not capable of feeling love. This accusation is completely false. There are many different types of love, and Sherlock has experienced them all. 

There is, of course, the familial love, the first kind of love a child feels for his mother. 

Mothers are the first to show a child love. Regardless of what you do, your mother will always love and respect you. This love is returned wholly and completely as the child grows and matures. 

Sherlock knew this on one level or another. He knew that his mother cared for him and liked to imagine that his father did as well. Sherlock also liked to believe that he had gotten over the Oedipal aspect of loving his mother far earlier than any other child.

There is also the love that rises from obligation.

For all of the teasing and ribbing they exchanged, Sherlock really did love his brother. He knew that, despite knowing the truth, Mycroft had mourned him when he’d fallen. When he’d jumped. Sherlock loved his brother reluctantly, because they were family, because he was supposed to. At least, that was what he tried to tell himself. Even in his head, his argument did not sound truthful. Sherlock and Mycroft shared the kind of love that did not have to be named in order to be felt.

Though he loved his mother dearly, Sherlock found another sort of maternal love in the form of Mrs Hudson. His real mother had been kind and caring, but never in the same way as Mrs Hudson was. Mrs Hudson was the mother he wished he could have had, teasing him and protecting him and making him tea. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. Regardless of how many times she insisted that she wasn't his housekeeper, she continued to perform the duties of one because she enjoyed it. With her own children having already flown the coop, she adopted Sherlock into her family and into her heart. He, in turn, adopted her into his.

Sherlock had not had many friends growing up. Therefore, he had never quite felt the sort of platonic love like he had with Lestrade. Sure, it was more hate than love sometimes, but Lestrade had helped him through his toughest time, had continued to help him even when he got clean and stayed that way. Sherlock wasn’t sure if Lestrade knew how much he helped him by bringing him cases to solve. Sherlock was sure that if he didn’t have another way to keep busy, he would back on drugs in a heartbeat.

For this reason, Sherlock was able to leave Lestrade, to fake his death in order to keep his friend safe. No matter what happened, Gregory Lestrade would always hold a special place in Sherlock’s heart.

Every person growing up experiences unrequited love at some point in their lives. No relationship exemplified this more than Sherlock’s relationship with Irene Adler. She was a mystery to him, a puzzle he would love to solve, but could never solve. The ultimate enigma. Sherlock had never known such a love before he met Irene, the instant connection of two people who might have been soul mates in another life, but were doomed to simply pass each other by in this one. If Irene had been able to return his affections, Sherlock was sure that their time spent together would have seen sparks fly.

Yet, Irene’s life was not suited for such affairs. Her attraction to women was not the only part of the issue. Irene and Sherlock would never have been able to make their relationship last because both of them needed to be the best and would not rest until they were. Over a longer period of time, friendly banter would have turned to true competition which would lead to frustration and, eventually, loathing. Sherlock and Irene’s relationship simply could not be more than a flash in the pan. 

But it was not for any of these loves that Sherlock returned to London after eliminating the last of Moriarty’s criminal accomplices. The love he returned for was much more than any other. It was the kind of love that didn’t come from any sort of obligation, it was heated and passionate, exciting and frightening, comfortable and familiar, and utterly ineluctable. The kind of love that keeps you warm at night.

The love that he felt for John Watson was unlike anything Sherlock had ever felt before. The connection of two halves of a whole, souls coming together as one entity. It was unavoidable and irrevocable, a simple fact of life. The true love between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson was a fixed point in time -- it had always existed and would always remain regardless of the distance between them.


	2. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's musings on love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was only going to be one part. Then, in my Love and Death in the Greek Classics class we had a big discussion about love and such. Thus, part two was born.

PART II: John

Pausanias said that there are two kind of love, that of the Common Aphrodite and that of the Heavenly Aphrodite. John had never given this theory much clout until he met Sherlock Holmes. 

Pausanias explains that the Common Aphrodite is vulgar, a love that is focussed only on the body, a love that isn’t more than plain old lust that fades as soon as the sexual act is complete.

Heavenly Aphrodite is so much more. It’s the connection of two souls, a timeless love that will surpass even the body’s beauty. A love that will not fade when looks fade and you become bald or sick or die. A love that includes every little detail, every quirk and every quality.

There was another Greek philosopher, Aristophanes. Aristophanes told a story, a story from the beginning of time when human beings were more than they are now. Two people pressed together into one entity -- two faces, four arms, four legs -- and they could do anything. These people tried to do the unthinkable. They tried to climb Mount Olympus with the intent of destroying the gods. Zeus held a council, gods and goddesses all in attendance, trying to figure out what to do with this human race. They couldn’t be destroyed, because then the gods would have nobody to worship them. So, Zeus decided that their punishment would be different, more severe and full of suffering rather than mere death. Zeus separated these beings, ripped them apart like the sections of a orange. Now, we humans are forced to spend our days searching for the person who used to be our second half, the perfect match to our soul. When you find your soul mate, then you are truly happy.

This is another theory John Watson takes to be sappy and false. He’s far to grounded in reality to think about soul mates and destiny. This is also yet another thing that gets irreparably changed the very second he meets Sherlock Holmes.

He has many failed relationships to prove the fact that soul mates don’t exist, he has Harry’s failed relationship to prove the fact that soul mates don’t exist. He was content to go through life in this way, Common Aphrodite ruling his life, looking only as far as the next shag, content to float along. It only took one person to change his view completely.

Sherlock can be extremely hard to get along with. He can be abrasive and rude and even downright mean. It is sometimes with intention and sometimes without, but invariably somebody will get their feelings hurt. 

John’s love for Sherlock was not a sudden thing. It grew and matured like a flower or fruit, remaining unready to be picked until it was fully bloomed, fully ripe. John did not realize that this love existed when Sherlock stood before him whole and unharmed. The inside was as beautiful as the outside, this John knew, but it hadn’t quite hit him yet.

When Sherlock returned from the dead, when he suddenly appeared in 221B Baker Street far too skinny with his clothes hanging off of him, that is when John realized that he was in love. It hit him with the force of a tidal wave, filling his body with the light of a thousand suns. The first time they kissed, John sighed in relief. The first time they made love -- when neither knew where John’s body ended and Sherlock’s began, when John bit down on Sherlock’s shoulder and Sherlock cried out and threw his head back and closed his eyes with pleasure -- John’s body sang. His fingers were fused to Sherlock’s hips and he never wanted to let go, he never wanted this feeling to end.

John loves every single piece of Sherlock Holmes.

Sometimes, John thinks it might be the other way around. Is he the true giver of Heavenly Aphrodite, or is Sherlock? Sherlock may be the younger man, but he’s the one who had the wisdom and the intelligence. Sherlock is the one who cares for John’s soul more than his body. John knows that he is not the most attractive man, at least not in the same way that Sherlock is. Where Sherlock is smooth, John is wrinkled. Where Sherlock is lithe, John is stocky. Where Sherlock is unblemished, John is scarred. 

Although, maybe it’s both of them. A mutual expression of Heavenly Aphrodite, of loving each other through thick and thin, in sickness and in health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words of the two Greek philosophers are paraphrased from Plato's "Symposium."


End file.
